Muppet Halloween: That's the Spirit!

Rizzo came into the kitchen where Kermit was sorting the mail over the trash can. "Hey Kerm," he asked. "What's the scariest thing you can think of?"
Kermit didn't even look up. "Piggy's dry-cleaning bill," he said, and continued sorting the mail. He smirked to himself, feeling doubly pleased because he did not have to wonder whether or not Piggy would overhear. She was on an urgent shoe-buying trip to New York, brought on by the insufficiencies of some 203 snazzy pairs of shoes. Kermit had driven her to the airport, kissed her good-bye, and was actually looking forward to a brief interval of only being responsible for the happiness and welfare of everyone else. Despite that heady responsibility, he had nothing more constructive for Rizzo.
“You’re no help,” Rizzo muttered resignedly, trotting into the living room.
“What do you need help with?” said a low lugubrious voice.
“Oh, hi Beauregard,” Rizzo said absently. “I’m trying to think of something scary to wear for Halloween.”
“Aren’t you a little old for trick-or-treating?” asked Beauregard, looking uncertain. “I mean, you’re little and all, but I thought—“
“I’m not going out for candy,” Rizzo said, looking annoyed. “I’m helping out with the haunted house down at the Hensonville power plant.”
“That big abandoned building on the edge of town?”
“That’s the one,” Rizzo said. “Nobody uses it any more—it’s inactive.”
“How active could it be?” Beauregard marveled. “It’s a building after all.”
Rizzo started to explain but checked himself and smiled tolerantly.
“Right,” he said soothingly. “So some of the folks have helped make it into a premo haunted house. It’s already a creepy old building—now things jump out at you and you walk through fake spider webs and stuff—really scary.”
“Oh. I get it. But Rizzo--how to spiders make fake webs?” Beauregard asked.
Rizzo opened his mouth to answer and came up with nothing useful.
“Um…” he began.
“Hey guys,” said Gonzo, coming down the stairs and stopping near them. “What’s up?”
“Fake spider webs,” said Beauregard. “And a building that moves around.”
Gonzo shot Rizzo a look of bemusement. “Haunted house?” he asked. Rizzo nodded, and when Gonzo headed toward the door, Rizzo took his leave of the Muppet Theater's janitor and trotted along after him.
“Yeah, and it’s going to be super,” said Rizzo. “Plus, we’re collecting food for the less fortunate. Wanna come help?”
“Well, I was going to give out candy here to the trick-or-treaters,” said Gonzo.
“So give out candy if you want to—that’s tonight. We’re working on the haunted house stuff now. Come and give us a hand.”
Gonzo looked undecided and Rizzo leaned forward and added the piece de resistance. “C’mon, Buddy,” he wheedled. “There’s a million ways to maim you just waiting to happen.”
Gonzo could not stop the spark of interest from lighting in his eyes. “Really?” he asked. “Well, maybe I could help out for a little bit.”
Rizzo laughed and put a hand on Gonzo’s back. “That’s the spirit,” he said with a laugh. “Now come help me put more ooze on the walls.”
Gonzo turned and looked at his friend. “Um—where does the ooze come from?” he asked.
Rizzo kept his face carefully neutral.
“Trust me,” he said. “You don’t want to know.”

“Hey there, Kermit,” said Rowlf. He had just come in from a brisk walk around the block and he shook himself, sending off the faint crisp smell of wet leaves.
“Nice outside?” asked Kermit. He was actually having a second cup of coffee and perusing the paper in relative quiet.
“Oh yeah,” said Rowlf. “The fall colors are beautiful and there’s a real nip in the air. It’s going to be a great Halloween.” He looked at Kermit slyly. ‘How’s the kid?” he asked. “Excited?”
“And how,” said Kermit. “We’re going trick-or-treating with the frog scouts and then we’re supposed to check out the haunted house at the end of town.”
Rowlf grunted, snagged a mug and poured hot coffee carefully before sitting down. “Supposed to be really scary,” he said. “At least—that’s what I hear.”
“Me too,” said Kermit. “That’s why I’m going, too.”
“Robin wanted reinforcements?”
Kermit’s voice was dry. “Either that or he wants to see if I really do scream like a girl when something icky jumps out at us.”
“What’s he wearing for a costume?” Rowlf asked.
“Well, last I heard, he was going as Robin Hood, but that was this past weekend. He’s probably changed his mind six times since then.”
“What about you? You dressing up?”
“Thinking about it,” Kermit said, and smiled. Something about this holiday seemed to bring out the child or the actor (or possibly even the child actor) in everyone—dress up time for adults. “How about you?”
“Well, I’m supposed to help out the local constabulary,” Rowlf said. “They’re looking for a few good noses to make sure there aren’t any rotten apples.”
“All it takes it one,” said Kermit.
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Rowlf deadpanned. ”Piggy get off okay?”
“Yep,” said Kermit. “She and her luggage are happily ensconced on a quick hop to New York.”
“Hats?” Rowlf asked. He reached for the sports section.
“Shoes,” replied Kermit imperturbably.
“Ah.” They sipped their coffee in companionable silence, enjoying the uncharacteristic quiet. It did not last long.
Below their feet, there was a faint concussive “boom” and smoke began to pour up through the floor vents. Seconds later, there was the sound of a land-slide on the top floors, accompanied by a great deal of penguin honking. With a sigh, Kermit drained his mug and stood.
“Up or down?” Rowlf asked, not entirely successful in hiding his grin.
“Up,” said Kermit resignedly. “When in doubt, start with the penguins.”
“Sage advice,” Rowlf responded, but Kermit was already gone.

Sage advice might be in short supply, but the run-of-the-mill variety was easily had.
“Right over there,” said Johnny Fiama. His expensive suit was immaculate, and he held a paper cup of designer coffee in one well-manicured hand. Johnny had come to help with the haunted house preparations, but he saw his role as more advisory than hands-on. Sal was hands-on enough for both of them, attaching pulley cables in the high rafters with ease.
“So this is where the rubber spiders drop down on ‘em,” Sal gushed. “They’ll scream for their mommies.”
Johnny gave him a mild look, and Sal looked doubtful. “Not that that’s a bad thing,” he said quickly. Johnny nodded and sipped more coffee.
“Hey Johnny,” Sal said. “What are you gonna dress up as tonight?”
“Well, I was thinking about coming as Count Dracula.”
Sal’s eyes widened and he nodded vigorously. “Wow! That would be swell!”
“Yeah,” Johnny said casually. “A lot of people don’t know that Count Dracula was actually from around Italy.”
Much as Sal adored his friend, there was a doubtful silence. “You think?” he said at last.
“Oh yeah,” said Johnny complacently. “Explains the accent.”
Sal smiled and nodded. “Sure, Johnny,” he said contentedly. “If you say so. Now—how do the spiders look?”
“Hideous,” said Johnny. “And that one on the end is all hairy and icky.”
Sal laughed. “Good—but I mean, do they look spaced out and everything?”
“The one in the middle looks confused….”

Rizzo wasn’t confused, but he was pleasantly surprised.
“—really nice of you guys to help out,” said Rizzo. Dr. Honeydew and Beaker had arrived on site rather suddenly, with more than one furtive glance behind them.
“Not at all,” said Bunsen Honeydew. “Beaker and I thought it would be a great way to get some, um, fresh air.”
Beaker rolled his eyes but did not contradict his friend.
“Now—here’s that mist-in-a-jar that you were asking for,” said the good doctor, handing over a box of old-fashioned mason jars that were all filled with what looked like swirling clouds.
“Excellent,” said Rizzo. “Tell me how they work?”
“Just place them around strategic points and open them about fifteen minutes before the guests begin to arrive. The mist should last for about five or six hours.”
“You are the man,” said Rizzo, and Beaker meeped in agreement.
The little man beamed. “What else can we do?”
“Um, check with Clifford. He’s sortof running this dog and pony show.”
Beaker nodded his long thin head.
“Mee meep meee,” he said solemnly, and marched off.
“Here,” said the doctor. “Let me help you carry those in, and I’ll join Beakie in a moment. This haunted house is going to be--”

“Phantabulous,” said Dr. Teeth with a wide, wide grin. “Musicus spookus is one of our very best sounds.”
“Like, I love the stage decorations,” Janice chimed in. “Those grinning skeletons and jack-o-lanterns are, like, really creepy and cool.
Floyd Pepper survey their stage, and the artfully strung fake cobwebs that adorned it. “We are, like, The Grateful Un-Dead,” he quipped, and laughed his raspy laugh.
“Yeah,” said Zoot, floating happily in his own little world. “Like that,” he said to no one in particular.
“So, after they’ve toured the haunted house, they’ll come here for refreshments and a little festive music,” said the woman with the clipboard. Her curly red hair looked a little wild and she groped absently for the pencil that was holding her hair in a bun.
“Is there a better time than another for us to take a break to stretch our legs? Or our fingers?” Dr. Teeth asked pleasantly.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Of course there is—I meant to mention it. Let’s see--we run the tours in shifts—it takes about ten minutes to get from the front door to here, and we start tours on the hour, at fifteen after, and at the half hour. You should be able to break at fifteen of every hour.”
“And the tours run from 6:00 to 8:30—zat right?”
“Yes sir!” She beamed at him. “Last tour begins at 8:30. If we can’t curl their toes in that amount of time, we’ll call it a good day’s work anyway. Then we’ll have some punch and cookies and other goodies and see how much food we collected.”
Dr. Teeth laughed his smoky laugh, exhibiting his trademark smile.
“It sooo nice of you to help us out,” his companion began. “I’m sure this is going to be a wonderful event and we’ll collect lots of food for the hunger drive.”
“It is always our privilege to serve,” said the doctor graciously. “Anything we can help with right now?”
She consulted her clipboard, then looked up at him doubtfully.
“Um, how do you feel about monsters?”
To her relief, the hip musician smiled toothily. “Some of my best friends are monsters,” he insisted.
“Oh good—then you can help them set up the maze.”
Dr. Teeth waved to the band. “Shake a leg,” he said cheerfully. “We’re gonna help out on the monster maze.”
He didn’t have to ask twice.

Fozzie Bear was pleased enough for two.
“So I’m gonna drive the golf cart,” said Fozzie proudly. “We won’t be able to carry all of the canned goods that we collect by hand, so I’m gonna drive along behind with the golf cart and pull the wagon.”
“That’s terrific, Fozzie,” said Kermit. “I’m glad your coming with us. The frog scouts are really looking forward to trick-or-treating and collecting food for the hunger drive—and of course the haunted house.”
“H-haunted house?” said Fozzie. “What haunted house? I thought we were going down to the old abandoned electric plant for a party afterwards.”
Kermit smiled his most reassuring smile—he’d been practicing it all morning and it showed. “That’s the place, Fozzie—but before the party we’re going to tour the old plant. They’ve made it all creepy and scary and we’ll go in and have a fun time getting scared before we have a party.”
“You think?” Fozzie said doubtfully. “I might just help sort the cans and—“
“Oh, c’mon, Fozzie—don’t be silly. It’s just some harmless, scary fun. You’ll have a good time.”
“If you say so,” muttered Fozzie resignedly, and tried a wan smile.

Fozzie was not the only reluctant participant.
“Me no like scary place,” said Cookie Monster nervously.
“I feel like someone’s watching me,” said Telly.
“No one’s watching you, Telly—it’s just the grinning skull lights. And it’s okay, Cookie,” said Herry. “It’s not really scary.”
“It not?” asked Cookie Monster, looking nervously at the rows of grinning skulls. He was ostensibly helping to secure the partitions for the monster maze, but his gaze kept wandering to the eerie decorations—skulls and bats and skeletons, oh my!
“No—it’s not really scary because it’s not real,” explained Herryy patiently. “It’s just pretend scary—for the kids.”
“Oh, right—for the kids,” said Telly, gulping but trying to put a brave face on it.
“Me like kids,” said Cookie Monster, brightening.
“Me too,” said Herry. “And they’ll have a good time getting scared here tonight. Just good clean fun.”
“We have to clean?” Telly said, his voice rising in pitch. “I-I thought we were just putting up these cardboard walls. Omigosh—I didn’t even bring my mop!”
“No, no cleaning, Telly—I was just say—“
“Hey! Look who’s here?” Rizzo cried. Gonzo crowded into the doorway behind him and his face broke into an excited grin.
“Well lookee there!” he exclaimed. “It's the second and third best-looking blue furry guys on the planet!”
Cookie Monster dropped the garland of pumpkin lights and ran over to completely enfold Gonzo in a crushing monster hug. “Furry blue guys got to stick together,” he said, “but you not best looking blue furry guy.”
“Yeah—that would be me,” said Herry. While they were arguing the merit of hot oil conditioners verses gel, Rizzo walked over the put out a friendly hand to Telly. Telly took it, managing to tangle himself in the string of orange lights, and they exchanged pleasantries while Rizzo worked to de-mesh him.
“You come to help Cookie?” asked Cookie Monster hopefully. “We got to finish all walls up by tonight.”
Rizzo opened his mouth, not wanting to dash his friends’ hopes, but was saved the necessity of answering by the arrival of the Electric Mayhem in all their glittering glory. In short order, there were too many cooks spoiling the broth, and he and Gonzo made their escape, um, getaway toward the vampire room.
Speaking of cooks….

“Der pander fryin mek der sizzlesizzle,” said the Swedish chef complacently. “Tehn der dough goes flumpy flumpy inter der funnel.” The red-haired woman was looking at him doubtfully, but seemed to be getting the gist of what was said. “Tehn der cakes gert all hotten and crispen, an der shaky shaky wih der sugar powder.” He illustrated, turning out a lovely crisp brown funnel cake. With a flourish, he sifted confectioner’s sugar over the hot fried bread and presented it to her for her approval. She put her pencil behind her ear and broke off a tiny piece. Chef watched expectantly as she put it into her mouth and chewed.
“Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Everyone will love them. But tell me—what is that spice I’m tasting? Not cinnamon—ginger? No…maybe nutmeg?”
The Chef seemed suddenly busy with his skillet, dodging her question skillfully by rearranging the rows and rows of caramel and candied apples lining the edge of his table. She might have asked again, but Rizzo came in with a question, and she followed him out without getting an answer.
Some things are best left a mystery.

“No mystery, man—when the kids stop here to read the tombstones, I come out dressed like a Mummy and moan and wave my arms. They’ll be so scared they won’t know what to do.”
Scooter looked up from hammering braces behind the fake tombstones so they’d stay upright in their pretend cemetery.
“Well, just be sure to get your bandages on secure. Nobody’s going to be scared if you start to unravel in front of them,” said Scooter.
“Well I don’t know,” Clifford said dryly. “Kerm was pretty scary the last time he started to unravel in front of us.”
Scooter laughed guiltily, but the sometimes MC and bassman had no such compunctions. His low chuckle was unrepentant.
“I think this is the last one,” said Scooter. “Anything else on your list?”
“Naw,” said Clifford after a moment of perusing his orders. “We’ve carried in the coffins for the vampire room, strung spider webs all over the stage—and everywhere else we could think of—and we’ve set up Forest Lawn here for the mummies. That’s everything on my—no, wait. We got to go carve some pumpkins.”
“Oh, good!” said Scooter. “I always like that part of Halloween.”
“I like the after part—where we eat the pumpkin in pies.”
“That, too,” said Scooter, picking up his tool caddy and following Clifford out of the room.
“It’s not a good as sweet potato, but I’m not one to complain.”

“But, but—you have to have them in Moi’s size,” Piggy complained. “You must.”
“I’m so sorry, Miss Piggy,” said the sales clerk, Renata. “There were only a dozen pairs like this made. We don’t seem to have these in your size.” Her expression was suitably mournful, but Piggy didn’t want sympathy. She wanted shoes. Specifically, she wanted the shoes she had seen in the window, and she could not quite comprehend what the helpful sales woman was saying. How could they be out of her size when she had made a special trip to New York just for the perfect pair of shoes?
“But—but vous always have them—you always have my size!” Piggy said, half petulant. “And those shoes were made for Moi—you just must have a pair! Try your other stores!”
“I’ve already called all of our other US stores, and I’ve sent emails to our stores in Paris and Milan. Milan said no, and though I haven’t heard from Paris, I’m very afraid we just don’t have them.”
Piggy considered her options. She could pitch a huge diva fit and have the district manager begging to placate her with other shoes, but she didn’t want other shoes—she wanted that particular pair that had stolen her heart in the store-front window—but wailing for them obviously wouldn’t do any good. Renata was an excellent personal shopper, but even she could not be clairvoyant. The shoes had simply sold before she’d know Piggy would fall in love with them. Piggy had no compunctions at all about making a scene if it would help, but even she saw there was no need pitching a fit toward no specific end. Her blue eyes grew very blue and her mouth twisted down into an unhappy pout. Renata had a wild desire to pat her on the shoulder and say, “There, there.”
“But the ones in the window…” Piggy began sadly.
“I even thought of those,” said the sales clerk, “but we always put size six on display, and I’m afraid that won’t do.”
“No,” Piggy agreed despondently. It most certainly would not do.
“Is there—is there anything else you want, Miss Piggy. You know how much we value your business, and if there’s anything else we could do….”
“No thank you,” said Piggy. “I…thank you for checking. Perhaps you could call me a cab?”
“Of course, Miss Piggy.”
A cab was summoned and arrived. With a great show of deference, the cabbie loaded Piggy’s six bags and two boxes into the trunk and handed her into the cab.
“You’ll call me if Paris has them, won’t you?” Piggy asked Renata, who had waited with her until her cab had arrived.
“Of course, Miss Piggy—you’re at the Waldorf-Astoria?”
Piggy nodded. “Until this afternoon.”
“Oh—I thought you were staying over until tomorrow.”
Piggy shrugged. The disappointment over the shoes was putting a damper on her trip. She wanted to go home.
“Well, I’ll certainly let you know once I hear from Paris.”
“Vous are too kind.”
The sales woman watched the cab pull away from the curb with something like despair. There was no better shoe customer on the planet than Miss Piggy, and although she had managed to find several pairs of boots, pumps and more casual shoes that Piggy had eagerly purchased, to have to disappoint her in her quest for evening footwear was a severe setback. She wished without any real hope that Paris would miraculously have a pair in the diva’s size, but she knew that their Paris location had never had these shoes in Piggy’s size.
Inwardly, she sighed. You win some, you lose some.

Camilla was on the verge of losing it. She had been perfectly happy setting up the vampire room for this evening, and had just taken a moment to try out her new beak fangs when her territory was invaded by penguins.
“Bawk,” she said decisively to the black-and-white tide of aquatic waterfowl. “Bawk buh-bawk begawk!”
“Aw, c’mon, Camilla,” said Winky. “Let us be vampires.”
Camilla didn’t even need to say anything, which was just as well. She fixed a gimlet eye on Winky and his rowdy bunch and they seemed to shrink together into one solid black and white mess.
“Bawk bawk,” she said firmly.
“Well what would you like us to do?” whined Zany, but before Camilla could answer him all-too-plainly, Rizzo arrived on the scene with the frazzled looking red-haired woman.
“Hey—guys! Glad to see you!”
Camilla started to say something, but kept her beak closed with effort.
“Glad somebody is,” said Winky. “We wanted to be vampires, but—“
“Vampires?” said Rizzo. “Oh, no—I have something much better for you guys. Come with me.”
The penguins crowded after Rizzo into the hallway, leaving the two women alone.
“This looks wonderful, Camilla—everything ready for tonight?”
Camilla clucked fussily and proceeded to show all of the hidden surprises that awaited their little goblin guests, to the delight and praise of her friend.
“Oh, wonderful!” she exclaimed. “This is positively to die for!”

“—shoes are to die for, and I absolutely swear that I was in fear of my life until I found a pair in her size.”
“Wish I’d been as lucky,” said Renata, coming into the break room with a sigh. “Miss Piggy was here this morning and we didn’t have the shoes she wanted in her size.”
Every clerk in the room made a sound of dismay and comfort. It was the recurring nightmare of every shopper’s assistant, that a client would finally be sold on something that was no longer available.
“Oh no! How awful for you! What did she do?”
“Asked me to call a cab.”
More sounds of sympathy and dismay.
“Did she buy anything?” asked one of the younger clerks. Several of the more experienced clerks shook their heads sadly at this display of ignorance.
Renata looked dismal. “Twelve pairs,” she admitted. This news was greeted with wails of surprise and dismay.
“That’s all?”
“Just twelve?”
“She usually buys twice as many when—“
“She wanted the ones in the window,” said Renata. “Fell in love with them, and we didn’t have her size.”
“Oh—the little strappy ones? The ones that—“
“That’s the pair,” said Renata. “And we didn’t have a pair in her size. In fact, the only pair I was able to find was one in Paris, and they weren’t the right size. And, of course, the ones in the window are sixes, so—“
“Not anymore,” said a very young, very blonde young lady, absently munching an apple. “I had to sell the sixes yesterday, so I just replaced the ones in the window with the pair in the storeroom.”
Every perfectly coiffured head in the store turned and stared at her. She became aware of the scrutiny slowly, looking at the sea of startled faces around her.
“Was that—was that bad?” she asked, and wished her voice didn’t come out in a squeak. She had only been on the job three weeks, and was suddenly fearful of having violated some unwritten rule.
“Well,” said an older sales matron severely, “our policy has always been—“
“Not necessarily,” interrupted Renata smoothly. “What size is in the window now?”
The young lady swallowed nervously. “I—I’m not exactly sure. But the customer wanted the size sixes, so—“
Renata grasped her wrist and pulled her after her toward the front of the store, her heart beating double-time. Oh! This might solve everything! She felt her spirits begin to lift…

“Just a little higher,” Rizzo was saying. The penguins tugged on the ropes that held the floating ghosts aloft, setting them back up. They had just done a practice run on the electric eye triggers, and the cheesecloth and fishing-wire ghosts have come scrambling down onto the lot of them to great whoops of laughter and applause.
“That was awesome,” said one of the younger penguins, to lots of honking approval.”
“Yeah, but now we have to set it up again,” said Rizzo. “Here, let me show you how to reset the light and get the ghosts back in place.”
While they panted and pulled, Winky turned his eyes on the little rat.
“As fun as this is, Rizzo, is this all we get to do at the haunted house?”
“What? Are you kidding?” said Rizzo. “I just wanted to show you the ghosties, but I have something special in mind for you guys.”
They gave a final heave and the ghosts were all hovering over their heads, waiting for their next swooping attack. Rizzo wound the rope tightly around the handle and gave a quick nod of satisfaction.
“There—perfect! Now—follow me to the creature shop!”
“Creature shop?” said Winky. “I like the sound of that.”
“Just wait,” said Rizzo. “You won’t believe your eyes.”

Renata couldn’t believe her eyes. The shoes now resting gracefully against the artfully strewn purses in the window were, in fact, the exact size that Miss Piggy wore. For a moment, she couldn’t quite find her voice, then she let out a big breath and smiled.
“Hand them to me,” she said. “Oh—I can’t wait to call her!”

“I was so glad to get your call!” said the red-haired woman happily. “It’s sooo nice of you to help us.” A couple of bats fluttered around her hair, apparently assessing nesting possibilities, and she grinned and tried not to walk into one of them. “And you brought your own, um, assistants,” she said. A slender black cat, one of several, wound around her ankles as she walked, and she managed to progress without tripping.
“Always glad to visit a charming haunt,” said the accented voice. “And the girls are always eager for a night out—especially on Halloween.”
“Well we’re delighted that you’re here. Let me show you to a room, and you can grab Rizzo if you need any help.”
“That’s one—one helpful rat,” said the voice, and lights flashed overhead. The red-haired woman looked doubtfully up at the ceiling.
“Must be a short,” she muttered.
“A short what?” asked the well-modulated voice.
She was spared the necessity of answering when they rounded a corner and came face-to-chest with Herry Monster, Telly and Cookie Monster.
“Well, hello, Count!” cried Herry. “Have you come to help haunt the house?”
“That’s three—three happy monsters!” cried the Count. Once again, lights flashed overhead and the woman looked around a little uneasily.
“I wonder what’s causing that?” she muttered under her breath. She put a hand on Count von Count’s arm and pointed. “Don’t let me interrupt, but here’s your room. You can set up anything you want in there. The kids will come by here—“ She consulted her clipboard. “—right after the cemetary, and just before the creature shop. Okay? And if you need anything, just holler.“
Count von Count took her hand and kissed it gallantly. “I shall ‘holler,’” he said solemnly. He released her hand and watched her go, then he and his familiars turned back toward his familiar friends.
“How nice to see you,” he said. “Tell me—what are you doing here to make the little ones shriek?”

“Get out!” Piggy shrieked into the phone. ‘Oh! OH! How wonderful! You found them, you found them! Oh, Renata! You are wonderful! Kissy, kissy!”
Renata held the phone away from her ear and grinned broadly. Usually, she felt elated to get a simple “thank-you.” It was certainly nice to make someone’s day and to hear about it in such unaffected terms.
“But—but I’m on my way to the airport now,” said Piggy. “Can you—can you meet me out front with them? I’ll have my cabbie stop on the way!”
“Certainly, Miss Piggy. I’ll be watching for you.”
“You are a doll, Renata! A complete dear! Kissy kissy, dear! I’ll think of you on Oscar night!”
Renata was still grinning happily when she hung up.

*Huge smile. *Love everything. Ah, how I love the season of the scaring and the tall tales it spawns. Might need to consult you about something in my mind's eye for authorship posting... But I do so hope you will have the time to return and host us to a second portion of this haunting.

Aw... But but but siss... You have something perfectly Halloweenish of your own with that museum story. And then there's the treat of seeing the Muppets in boarding school with that fiend known as Mrs. Pleasants. Or the creepy shadow robots that are hunting down the Muppets in The Missing.
Point is, you have great stories of your own that need updating... But only if you feel strongly enough to carry through and finish them, as I myself know of half-hearted incompleted fanfic failures.

Hope to read more from you Clauds. And sorry for the muffining Aunt Ru, just had to make my younger sister feel fright.
*Drops off a mini coffin box with segmented partitions filled with different scream chocolates for Catherine, in hopes of getting more story posted.

Readers here of every age.
Wouldn't you like to read something strange?
Come with us and Ru will see.
This our town of Hallo, er, Henson-green.

This is Halloween! This is Halloween!
Pumpkins scream in the dead of night.
This is Halloween! Please post a brand new scene!
Make the neighbors scream, not so Ru's afraid to write.
Everybody scream, this our town of Henson-ween.

In this town, we call home.
Everyone hail to the pumpkin song.
Please make way for a very special story.
Everyone knows Ru's the champ of the chaptered catch.
Everyone hail to the pumpkin queen.

Readers nag for an update or two.
Life's no good without our aunt, dear Ru.
To nag's our job, but we're not mean.
In our town of Henson-ween.

*A fiendly little bump to see if this hauntingly scary story can get back into the spirit of the season of scaring.
*Hugs.

First I have to say I LOVE the wonderfully silly device of leading in every segment with a joke springboarded off the end of the previous one...very cute and clever! And some of you by now know I LOVE all things Halloween. (I'm betting I finish my Halloween story before Lady Ru finishes this one though...yeah that's a gauntlet. Gonna do something about it?)

I love the evocation of autumn senses with the wet leaves in Rowlf's fur. (Have I mentioned that is my absolute favorite smell in the world?) Yes, Robin, your uncle DOES scream like a girl. Rowlf and Kermit enjoying a quiet coffee moment (why do I have International Flavors commercials running through my head? "Jean-Claude! gigglegiggle") was a nice touch. Although I have to disagree about starting with the penguins. Start with the smoke...

Spaced-out spiders, oh yeah baby! And Dracula Italian? Hey, does the Pope wear a funny hat or what? Now where's that pumpkin cannoli?

You HAVE to finish this! I wanna know what actually comes out of the mist-in-a-jar, and do either Stephen King or a radio station in a lighthouse have any part to play in it? (Remember folks...if there's a hook banging on your door in the wee morning hours...don't answer it!)

Some of Teeth's best friends are monsters? Eeek! *Newsie making mental note NOT to attend any parties thrown by the band*

Kermit practicing his reassuring smile for Fozzie is either really sweet or rather disturbing...good thing this is Kermit and not his evil twin or I'd be worried about the bear!

Hot oil versus gel for monster fur. Should I be embarrassed to admit I actually know what a hot oil treatment is? Cookie hugging Gonzo was great...but what about red furry guys or orange furry guys? And hey! What about blue furry gals? Huh? Huh?

Um...the Chef's mystery spice, in a Halloween story, rather brings to mind a certain Texas chili and "peppercorns"...eek! And hey, Lady Ru, izzat YOU inspecting all this with the clipboard and the red frizzies?

Pumpkin cheesecake is better than sweet potato pie. It just IS.

I love that Piggy actually knows when to diva and when not to diva!

It makes me happy that you know what a "gimlet eye" is. But...if the vampire room is "to die for"...hmm. Just what exactly will go wrong tonight? (Hey. It's the Muppets. SOMETHING will...)

"Just twelve?" LOL

Gotta love any haunted house prop which attacks people. But...what will happen when they come crashing down on top of someone? (Sudden vision of the classic Disney "haunted house/ghost-busting" cartoon...flour, sheets, et al...)

"Must be a short." "A short what?" That's ONE! One rolling rimshot! Ah-ah-ah!

And mama gets a new pair of shoes...or does she?

Finish this thing by Christmas! Come on, that much of a setup, I gotta know what comes next! Such a tease....
------------------------------------

“Hey—I’m hung up, here,” said Sal. “Johnny—can you unwind that rope really slow so I can--?”
“This one?” said Johnny. He unwrapped the rope and Sal fell unceremoniously onto the ground.
“That’s the one,” came Sal’s muffled voice. “Um, thanks, Johnny.”
He picked himself up off the floor and checked for broken bones. There didn’t seem to be any, and he straightened and brushed himself off.
“All done,” he said, rubbing a knot on the back of his head. “Now what?”
“Now we check in with the redhead and see what’s left to do,” he insisted. Johnny shot his cuff and looked at his watch. “The rental place closes at six o’clock,” he said. “We’re coming down to the wire.”

“Got any more wire?” asked Winky. The penguins were busy hanging up a variety of body parts—all foam or rubber or fabric or such—on wires hanging from the ceiling. With any luck, attendees would walk into a room full of dangling arms, feet, ears and heads, but the penguins had been careful to choose those that were less believable, and therefore, less scary. On top of that, the penguins were as pleased as Rizzo had pronounced they’d be. Each penguin was busily transforming himself (or herself) into something other than a carbon copy of his fellows.
“Hey—look at me! I’m mutating!” said Blinky, staggering around with a fake hand attached to her head. “Anybody need a hand?”

Not only was Renata out front with the shoes, but the entire shoe department—patrons as well as employees—stood clapping on the sidewalk as Piggy emerged from her taxi. The shoes were tried on, adored—a photographer from The Times fashion section snapping pictures madly—and paid for with an exorbitant tip. Renata felt dizzy just looking at the bill in her hand.
“That’s the biggest tip I’ve ever seen,” said one of Renata’s coworkers. “Are you—are you gonna frame that thing?”
“Not bloody likely,” smirked Renata. “I earned it.”

“Anything else we’ve overlooked?” asked the red-haired woman. Most of the workers were clumped around in the social hall, admiring the spooky decorations and the trays of cookies and snacks.
“Those are cool,” said Zany. “They look like little fingers. What are they?”
“Orange circus peanuts with a half of a jellybean stuck on the end for the fingernail.”
“Righteous,” said Dr. Teeth. “But I love theses popcorn hands.” Someone had taken clear plastic food-handler’s gloves and filled them with popcorn. The end of each finger held a candy-corn fingernail and each glove was tied off with red licorice laces. The ring finger of each glove was wearing a spider ring.
“Icky,” said Rizzo. “I love ‘em.”
There were cupcakes with cat faces, cupcake spiders that dangled black licorice-whip legs and an apple streudel shaped like a mummy whose layers of pastry looked like grave-clothes.
“These people take their Halloween very seriously,” murmured Kermit.
“You think?” asked Scooter, grinning.
“So what are you going to be, Scooter,” Kermit asked.
Scooter grinned, looking sheepish. “Um, a knight in shining armour,” he admitted. “Mostly aluminum foil and cardboard, but I’m practicing in case I ever get a girlfriend.” He looked at Kermit. “Where’s your girlfriend, Kermit?”
“Buying shoes in New York,” said Kermit. He seemed remarkably calm.
“Gosh,” said Scooter. “That is scary!”

“I hope it’s not too scary,” said Dakota, one of Robin’s little frog scout friends who was dressed as Astro Boy. He pressed close to Robin, who stayed pretty close to Kermit. Other parents out with trick-or-treaters smiled at the sight of a small green Robin Hood holding tight to Charlie Chaplin’s hand. Although delighted with the food collection process, and even more thrill by the treats the were receiving in their bags, the Frog Scouts had been building up their courage the closer they got to the haunted house at the edge of town.
“Are there—are there ghosts, Uncle Kermit?”
“Uh huh,” Kermit said matter-of-factly. “Ghosts and vampires and zombies and monsters.”
Robin was silent for a moment, thinking. “Anyone we know?” he asked.

“I don’t know what we could have done without you and your friends, Rizzo,” said the woman with the curly red hair, which had been subdued with effort beneath a broad-brimmed witch’s hat. “The prospect would have been scary,” she said, hoping for a laugh. None was forthcoming. “Sheesh--tough crowd. Oh well,” she sighed, ruefully smoothing her raggedy Black Dress. “I suppose I’m supposed to be scary, not funny. Guess I’d better get back to my post. The kids’ll be here soon.”
Rizzo looked at the clock on the wall. Fifteen more minutes till showtime. It was time to get into costume.

“Why aren’t you in costume?” Gonzo asked. Rizzo looked up and stared at his roommate in surprise.
“How come you’re here?” Rizzo retorted.
“I asked first,” Gonzo said.
Rizzo put his hands on his hips and tapped his foot. “Well if you must know—“
“And apparently I must,” Gonzo murmured automatically.
“I am in costume.”
Gonzo stared at his navy blue suit and conservative tie. “What are you?”
“Look who’s talking!” Rizzo snorted.
“Ha ha. Are you going to tell me or not?”
“Aw, phooey,” said Rizzo. “Can’t you read?” He pointed at an ID tag around his neck. “I’m a health inspector. Nobody’s getting it.” He looked dejected.
“Um, okay,” Gonzo said. “That’s scary, but…well, maybe a little esoteric. Why don’t you go as a carrier of the bubonic plague?” he suggested.
“That’s not gonna…hm…that might work.” Rizzo sighed. “This isn’t working, so let’s give your idea a try.” He shucked off the suit, folded it and put it out of sight behind a tablecloth. Then he turned back to Gonzo and looked at him. “Thanks buddy. So—why are you here? I thought you were going to give out candy.”
“Me too,” Gonzo said. “For some reason, we only had a few kids stop at our house. I mean, last year, the Swedish Chef said we had tons of…oh. Right. Got it now.”
“Hmm. So Chef made the treats last year?”
“Yeah. Popcorn balls.”
“The exploding popcorn balls?”
“I’m guessing…yes.”
“Well, welcome to the show, Buddy. The kids’ll be here in a few minutes. Wanna help?”
“Sure—why not. What can I do?”
“Why don’t you help me leading tours? Come with me on the first one, and after that you can do it on your own. Piece of cake.”
“Never say piece of cake in the labyrinth,” Gonzo murmured,

“The labyrinth is ready to go!” said Telly proudly. There were enough twists and turns to provide some real challenge, with scary things around every corner, but not too scary for little trick-or-treaters (or bears). “The kids are going to love this.”
“What me do now?” asked Cookie Monster. “Lady need help with party?”
Herry monster had a momentary vision of Cookie going down to the party room and devouring all the cookies before the haunted house had even begun.
“No!” Herry said hastily. “Um, we stay here and make sure the kids find their way through. Okay?”
“Okay,” said Cookie Monster, smiling hugely. “Me like helping little kids get where they going.”

I’m never going to make it, Piggy thought sadly. She had arrived triumphantly at the boarding house to find no one at home except Zoot. It took her ten minutes to get something like a coherent story out of him, and even that was probably not reliable. She was clear on two points exactly—(1) there was a party, and (2) she had new shoes. It seemed like kismet. She washed her face, reapplied the necessities, slipped into her little black party dress, changed into black-lace gloves and stepped back into her amazing new shoes. No matter what kind of party attire everyone else was wearing, she couldn’t go wrong in her little black dress. Now—to decipher the directions Zoot had given her….

“What were your directions?” Count von Count asked Clifford. “Do we wait until they come to us, or are we supposed to go meet them?”
“I only know two things,” said Clifford.
“That’s two—two things to know!” said the Count, laughing. Clifford looked up as the lights flickered. If the power went out during the haunted house, it would really be spooky. He hoped nothing was wrong with the electricity. While he looked, the ceiling lights stopped flickering and began to shine steadily again. Hmmm…must be a short.
“Um, I know I’m supposed to wait for the whole group to get in here, and that I’m not supposed to scare them too bad.”
“Excellent,” said the Count. “I will go and wait!”

Robin clutched Kermit’s hand so tightly it hurt. “I can’t wait, Uncle Kermit!” Robin whispered. Gently, Kermit loosened Robin’s death-grip on his hand. “That’s my chord hand, Robin,” he admonished gently. “I’m probably going to need it.”
Robin still held on, but not as tightly as before.
“Are you ready?” Kermit asked. The other scouts were all arrayed behind Scoutmaster Rana, who, dressed as Yoda, was even now rapping on the door.
“A frog scout is always ready,” Robin insisted.
“Good,” Kermit murmured out of the side of his mouth. “Then you can hold my hand when I scream like a girl!”

No one had answered her knock on the door, so Piggy had simply opened it and stepped through.
“Hellooo!” she called. “Anybody here? Moi is here and ready for the parteee!” No one answered. From deep within, Piggy could here indistinct noises, possible shouts and what might have been music. Despite the fact that she was not expected, Piggy was just a tad miffed. It is difficult to make an entrance when no one is there to see you. She looked around the cavernous lobby uncertainly, then walked over and peered into the dark doorway. Inside the room, a faint mist swirled around mysteriously.
“I hope this doesn’t turn out to be one of those out-of-control raves,” she muttered. Still, if Kermit was here—how wild could it get? She peeked into the doorway once again. Somewhere in the depths of this huge, abandoned-looking building there was a party, and she was not part of it. And somewhere in that party, Kermit was there, having fun without her. After a moment’s more vacillation, Piggy squared her shoulders, tossed her honey-blonde locks back over her shoulders and strode into the darkness.

“It’s awfully dark in here,” whispered Dakota. Under the frog scout theme of working with what you had, he had clamped onto Kermit’s other hand. Kermit hoped nobody would ask him to play the banjo tonight.
“Just follow the flashlight,” he whispered back. Suddenly, without warning, they turned a corner and found themselves in a spooky graveyard.
“Be very, very quiet,” said Rizzo. “We don’t want to wake the zombie.”
There were high-pitched squeaks of terror and more than one giggle. Behind him, he heard Fozzie whimper.
On cue, Clifford appeared in all his bandaged zombie glory. Since they were not on friendly terms with any zombies—only monsters—they had had to improvise on what a zombie looked like, but with his tattered clothes, scary makeup and luminescent dreadlocks trailing down his back, the bass player was sufficiently terrifying. The frog scouts (and Fozzie) screamed in terror while Clifford chased them around the tombstones in slo-mo. Kermit watched, bemused, but when Clifford turned on him suddenly and said “Ooga Booga!” he blanched a little and took a step back.
“Gotcha,” Clifford murmured, and let out a throaty chuckle that segued nicely into a maniacal laugh.
“Quick!” Rizzo called. “Come this way! He can’t leave the graveyard!”
Shrieking and laughing, the scouts ran after Rizzo.

Piggy let out a little shriek as something hairy brushed her face. She batted at it wildly in blind terror, then got herself under control and stopped thrashing about. Carefully, she reached out for whatever had brushed against her cheek, but her lace-covered fingers encountered nothing. She could not know it then, but the fake spider was currently underfoot. She had knocked it down and it had fallen slightly off the beaten path.
“Drat it,” said Piggy irately. “I can’t find that light-bulb pull again. Moi must have knocked it down.” She stood for a moment, pondering her options. After a moment, inspiration struck and she fished her cell phone out of her chic evening bag. She could use the backlight on her cell phone to find the door!
At least, she could have if she hadn’t used up her battery talking inflight to Marty. Drat again. Oh, well. She’d just have to grope her way to the next room and be more careful of the light pull. Piggy had just settled on this plan of action when the room flashed suddenly with light. The indoor “lighting” was accompanied by the not-so-distant boom of thunder and Piggy gasped. She now knew exactly where the door was, but she had seen…something—or rather, somethings—moving in the air around her. She looked uneasily around, now doubly blinded by the darkness and the sudden flood of light. Piggy put her hands carefully over her hair and walked as quickly and directly as possible to the door. Once, she had the discomforting sensation of something near her shoulder in the darkness, but she hurried on, finally bursting through the door into another mist-shrouded room.
This one had a huge cauldron in one corner and there was what appeared to be a gingerbread house façade behind it. Seeing it, Piggy’s stomach rumbled unhappily. Airplane peanuts and soda do not make a satisfactory meal for someone who has been power shopping the better part of the day.
The theme of this party was obviously Halloween-ish, and Piggy wondered hopefully if this was where they were serving food. She stepped forward tentatively and peered into the pot, feeling suddenly unhungry. Some sort of viscous goop burbled in the pot. It looked disgusting and smelled vaguely plasticky. But, despite the unappetizing sight in the cauldron, Piggy was now positive she smelled food. The scent of hot bread and some unidentifiable spice and the tang of cider wafted towards her in the still air. So the décor was a little odd. There was still a party to be found, and she was going to find it. She gritted her teeth and followed her snout toward the smell of food.

Dakota clutched Kermit’s arm convulsively. If he’d had teeth, they would have been chattering. They had just run through a hallway of swishing, swooping ghosts, a hallway which Dakota would never have entered had it not been for the necessity of escaping that witch! If you had asked Dakota two days ago about the existence of witches, he probably would have said they were made up and a figment of your imagination. But that had not been imagination chasing them into the dark hall—it was a real, live, green-faced, hook-nosed witch! He could not know that the witch was even at that moment looking for her green putty nose, which had not held up that well to chasing scads of giggling and terrified youngsters all evening.
“That witch was going to eat us!” Dakota whispered his bulbous eyes wide with terror. “She was gonna put us all in that big pot!”
“No she wasn’t. That was just my friend, Auntie Ru, wearing a costume and green make-up and stuff.”
“Green make-up? So she’s not a…real witch?”
“Nope,” said Robin earnestly. “That’s not even her real hat.”
Dakota looked visibly relieved. “Isn’t your Auntie Ru the one that makes brownies?”
“And blondies and caramel corn.”
“And candied gnats,” offered Kermit.
“So…she doesn’t cook, um, kids?”
“No. But she likes to cook for kids.”
“And bears,” Fozzie added. He, at least, had seen through the disguise to his friend underneath.
“Oh.”
Kermit had that pins and needles sensation in his fingers, so he surmised that Dakota had loosened his grip, at least somewhat.
“And she’s not really green?”
“No,” Robin said firmly. “You know, it’s really not that easy….”

“This place is getting crowded,” Floyd Pepper observed in his raspy drawl. As trick-or-treaters and their chaperones had trailed or fled out of the Creature Shop, they slid down the long sliding ramp to dead-end in the party room. There was now enough noise and action from the guests to give the band some genuine competition.
“Yeah, like, the kids are so cute!” said Janice. She watched two flower children, one dressed like a hippie and one like a human flower, giggling and comparing their candy hauls.
“So are the chaperones," said Dr. Teeth, smiling broadly as a young woman dressed as half angel/half devil walked past them in knee-high go-go boots. “This is shaping up to be a righteous gig." Animal panted his agreement, torn between watching the ladies and slavering after the pillowcases full of candy swag.
"Yeah," said Floyd. “Too bad Zoot had to ankle.”
"Allergies are, like, so mean," murmured Janice. “Let’s take him some goodies when we go back to the boarding house."
“Speaking of boarding house buddies—anybody seen the Bossman? Wasn’t he coming to this spookfest?’
“He’s somewhere here with the frog scouts,’ said Scooter, wandering by “They're still going through the haunted house."
“Like, your costume is really cute, Scooter,” said Janice approvingly. “Keep your eyes out for damsels in distress!"
Another appealingly-clad young lady walked by dressed in a bodysuit and glittery wings. She wore deely-bobber antennae on her head. Scooter grinned and gave a shrug.
“Well, I don’t have a lady, but there goes a butterfly….” he said, and followed after her.

------------------------Hahah! A NEW installment! Wonders never cease!

Hmmm...IS Piggy in the same haunted house? If so, WHY hasn't she encountered any of the spook-tastic Muppets yet? Ohno! It's Silent Hill! WILL Piggy's new shoes be enough to get her back to the "real" spookhouse with her friends? Does she have to click her heels together three times while chanting "There's no frog like Kermie, there's no frog like Kermie"?

Love Clifford as a zombie. Love Robin asking if the spooks were anyone they knew. Can easily picture Fozzie whimpering behind his frog buddy's small green back! And for Clifford to utter the "must be a short" line while the Count totals up stuff...LOL. Very cute!

Where Piggy’s tummy had been rumbling earlier, it now felt like it was full of butterflies. “Which would be great if Moi were a frog,” she grumped, “but Moi is not.” She peered nervously into yet another darkened hallway. What she saw was a long, narrow hallway that seemed slightly off-kilter, as though the walls were leaning out of plumb. She edged forward, careful of her footing in the new heels, and put one hand on the wall. It felt slick and damp, even through her black-lace gloves, and Piggy stifled the urge to scream as she snatched her hand away. Ewww…. She hope, hope, hoped it was just moisture and not anything…else.
Piggy now walked carefully in the exact middle of the narrow hallway, careful that she touched nothing and nothing touched her. The stillness was sort of creepy, but there was the sound of distant movement in the building and still that tantalizing smell of hot bread and cider. She turned right, seeing no one and nothing, but something tugged her hair and she batted wildly to free herself from the clingy strands of filament. It stuck to her fingers, and she didn’t know if it was the slime or the spider web itself that was sticky. Probably both. Those two things, combined with the light misting of hairspray, seemed to make the web adhere more determinedly. She pulled at it, walking sideways, and walked into another web. Sheesh! Don’t these people clean? If this was the way they got things ready for the party, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go!

“Go on—it’s fine. Nothing’s going to jump out at you,” said Kenneth, one of the older frog scouts who seemed perfectly willing to let the smaller frog scouts take the lead. Plenty of things had jumped out of them since they’d entered the haunted house, and those in the lead were taking no chances.
They turned the corner nervously, a tight knot of amphibian arms and legs (and one furry pair) and looked up and down the narrow hallway. This time, nothing jumped out at them—not monsters or rubber spiders or ghostly pictures on extendable springs—and after a moment, the knot loosened as everybody relaxed. Then the pictures on the walls began to spin and there was a cacophony of moans and screeches from hidden loudspeakers. Even Scoutmaster Rana flinched, and the frog scouts all giggled. They had finally cottoned onto the fact that this spooky house was more surprise than scare and were feeling a little braver. Even several wrong turns in the labyrinth hadn’t dampened their enthusiasm.
“We’ve already been down this hall—I recognize that picture,” complained Kenneth. “It’s that creepy guy with the wild hair and weird eyes.”
“You mean Albert Einstein?” Robin asked doubtfully. Kermit’s nephew suspected that some of the furnishing here in the maze had come from the muppet lab, which was undergoing a thorough airing out at the moment.
“Whoever. But we’ve been down this hall before.”
“I don’t think so—“
“No—he’s right. I remember that picture, too.”
“But we came in from the other end of the hallway—didn’t we?”
“My feet hurt.”
“Wait—wait—I’ve got it!” Robin exclaimed excitedly. “I know how to tell if we’re going the right way! I brought my Frog Scout compass!” He unclipped it from his belt loop and held it in his palm. “Shine the flashlight over here!” Dakota called.
“Well, the sun was setting behind the building, so the building faces east—“
“So that last left turn was really north—“
Their excited voices soon drowned out the recorded moans and groans.
Mr. Rana was suitably impressed and amused by his troop’s practical solution to the scary and disorienting maze. Kermit shot him a look.
“If it were up to me to get us out, I’d still be wandering,” Kermit admitted. At first, they had counted on familiar objects to determine whether or not they were walking in circles, but it eventually became evident that someone was changing the pictures and other objects after they passed by. Kermit suspected that explained the muffled sounds of shuffling and giggling that he thought he heard, and he could have sworn one of the voices sounded like Cookie Monster. Kermit hoped absently that Cookie had not yet been to the reception….

This was not the reception Piggy had expected. Her up-do was now a sticky up-don’t and she suspected she had a run in her fishnet hose. She had almost jumped out of her skin when a recording of screams and screeches boomed out of a speaker that could not have been more than six inches from her elbow.
“Oh for goodness sake,” Piggy said, catching her breath and remembering not to put her sticky glove over her pounding heart. “This party better be worth the effort!” She turned the corner and looked suspiciously at a picture of Beaker and Bunsen. It was creepy enough as it was, but Bunsen’s little glasses seemed to follow you wherever you went. Piggy was fairly certain that she’d already passed one picture of the mad scientist and his hapless assistant, but she thought that it had been a different one. Beaker’s lapels had been a little wider in the other one, she thought, to keep up with what the fashionable lab assistant was wearing those days.
She felt the floor tremble slightly under her feet and the dim lighting flickered. Great—another one of those weird electric shorts. She had a sudden horrible thought: If the power went out while she was in this…this labyrinth, she was going to have to grope her way out by touching the walls!

They had burst triumphantly from the maze, but their triumph was short-lived. The frog scouts were now pressed uneasily against the wall, confronted by not one, not two but three grinning vampires.
Johnny Fiama, Count von Count and a chicken with two bright fangs sticking out of her beak greeted the uncertain Frog Scouts.
“Hey, like, we are creatures of the, um, night,” said the first vampire.
“That’s ten—ten frog scouts in costume,” said the second. “And two—two adult chaperons.” Fozzie was about to emerge from behind Kermit’s back to protest when the Count added, “And one—one frightened bear!” The dim lighting overhead flickered, and there was the sound of thunder.
Robin had blanched back with the rest of them, but as soon as Johnny opened his mouth, he relaxed and looked around. If Johnny was here, Sal was probably here, too, so he kept one eye out in case the chimp decided to jump out at them. And Count von Count wasn’t scary—he was nice. Robin had met him lots of time when his uncle was working on Sesame Street. He felt Dakota lean in to whisper in his ear.
“Are—are chickens related to s-s-storks?” Dakota chattered.
“I don’t think so,” Robin replied. “How come?”
Dakota shrank back even further. “J-just wondering,” he replied. Kermit had heard the exchange and put a comforting hand on the nervous frog scout’s shoulder.
“That’s just Camilla,” he whispered. “She’s a friend, and she’s a vegetarian.”
Dakota looked relieved but wary, and straightened up a little. “O-Oh,” he said. “I’m g-glad.”
For the next few minutes, the scouts were treated to a decidedly eclectic display of vampire behavior, from random counting to crooning. The scouts began to lose their fear and giggle a little, enjoying this strange haunted house station. Finally, Johnny finished his rendition of “I Put A Spell On You.”
“Wow,” he said. “All that singing made me…thirsty!” He made a theatrical swoop at them, his cape billowing out behind him, and the scouts shrieked and scattered, evading him easily. Count von Count happily counted the running, screaming children, and Camilla made a couple of rather impressive almost-flights across the small room, her white wings stark against the ruby red lining of her cape. Only Dakota seemed somewhat unnerved, but not really frightened. Camilla had apparently been clued in and when she passed close to him and gave a throaty “be-gawk!” she had actually winked at Robin’s friend. After a few more moments of squealing pursuit, the frog scouts were expertly herded into the next room.
“That the last group, huh Johnny?” said Sal, emerging from his place behind the crypt façade.
“Yep—that’s all of them,” Johnny said sanguinely. “Rizzo said the frog scouts were gonna be in the last group of the evening.”
“Then I say we head for some punch and cupcakes,” Sal said. He reached up and turned off one of the two electric flames that framed the crypt doorway. “I heard they got six different kinds!”
“That’s six—six different kinds of spooky cupcakes!” cried Count von Count. The electric flame on the other side of the crypt door flickered and winked out in the power interruption that followed. Sal shrugged and turned to Johnny.
“Do we need to do anything else here besides turn out the lights?” he asked.
“Naw,” Johnny said. “Nobody else is comin’ and we’re gonna clean up tomorrow. Just come on down to the party.”
“Are ve going through the Creature Shop?” The Count asked eagerly. “I vas hoping to count the mutations!”
“Are the Mutations playing?” Sal asked, confused. “I thought it was the Electric Mayhem.”

Piggy’s eagerness for the party had been mutating into something much less enthusiastic. She had been around the same section of the maze at least four times, and—lacking bread crumbs—was coming to the unhappy conclusion that she was going to have to use her favorite Mocha Magic lipstick to mark where she had been.
There was a sudden crash and boom as the light flickered, and Piggy just happened to be looking in the right direction to see the clear outline of a door—a regular door. She waited for the predictable flare against her corneas to subside and then began to make her determined way over toward the doorway she had seen. She was ready to face anything rather than make another pointless pass down this stretch of corridor with Bunsen’s glassy gaze following her.
She was definitely getting closer to the smell of hot bread and there was another smell—coffee, maybe, or cocoa? Piggy’s spirits began to lift just a smidge. Food and company were close by—she was ready to sink her teeth into something tasty.

Piggy rounded the corner and saw a pretty realistic façade of a crypt, with one lone light burning. She looked around, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed that there were no…inhabitants. She saw something white on the floor and sidestepped cautiously toward it. It looked like a feather. Gingerly, Piggy bent and picked up a long white feather and held it up to the lone electric flame.
“This—this looks like Camilla’s,” she whispered out loud, and gulped. Camilla had been going to a party somewhere this Halloween. Piggy was both heartened at the thought of seeing her friend and worried. Surely this didn’t mean something had happened to Camilla…!

“I don’t know what happened,” Winky said, shrugging his penguin shoulders. “After I wiped off all that radioactive ooze, I just, you know, felt different. “Different didn’t even begin to describe it. Winky had spare body parts—hands, ears, half a dozen noses—all sprouting from somewhere on his sleek featherless body. The frog scouts giggled, and Kenneth reached out to touch one of the noses on Winky’s back.
Winky waited until his little froggy finger was almost touching it, then let out a loud “ACHOO!” Kenneth snatched his hand back and shrieked, and all the scouts and penguins laughed at his shocked expression.
This room was not dark—it was well-lighted like a laboratory so that all the haunted house tour guests could see the various mutated inhabitants. The penguins, usually so similar, all reveled in looking quite different from each other.
“Yeah,” said Nellie. Usually a duplicate of her sister, Shelley, Nellie had an impressive spiky ridge—made of individual fingers—all down her back. They would have been more realistic if they had not wobbled so every time Nellie moved, but the scouts were impressed nevertheless.
Eventually, everything had been examined and exclaimed over to the participants mutual satisfaction. “Hey, Blinky,” Winky called. “Lend me a hand rounding everyone up.” Blinky rushed over and poked people with the fake hand sprouting out of her head and the scouts scuttled to get out of her way, giggling maniacally. Enjoying the silly scene, Kermit suddenly whirled around, convinced that someone—or something—had patted him on the bum.
Blinky blinked at him innocently, holding up her two flightless wings.
“Don’t look at me,” she said. Kermit felt himself blush and pull his little bowler hat further down on his head. Once they had the group ready, Winky showed the scouts how to launch themselves down the slide that would take them to the party below. The slide had been a very popular addition to the haunted house this year, a gift of the penguin’s ingenuity. They had taken an old support pillar that spanned both floors and wrapped smooth narrow plastic sheeting around it like a screw. A couple of tweaks to make it meet safety regulations and you had a first-class twirling slide. Guests were encouraged to yell as they slid wildly down to the party below.
“Watch out!” said Winky. “That first step is kind of slick!”
One by one, half the scouts, then Kermit, then the rest of the frogs, Fozzie and Scoutmaster Rana all hurtled down the slide screaming like banshees. They arrived at the party below in great spirits, hopping up and running to look at the other guests, grab some food from the buffet or dance to whatever Halloween favorite was currently being played. Monster Mash was rocking now, and the scouts tumbled over each other to join the dancers on the floor. Kermit found himself hauled along and promptly abandoned, glad to have his fingers still intact. He went over to find a cup of punch or cider and something yummy off the buffet. Fozzie padded after him, looking immensely relieved, and they joined Sal and Johnny, Clifford and the Count and a very satisfied-looking Rizzo near the band.
“Total food tally is 503 nonperishable items!” Rizzo crowed excitedly. “That’s gonna fill a lot of Thanksgiving baskets.
“Wow!” said Fozzie. “I knew we collected a lot of food, but I didn’t think it was that much!”
“Well, some of this came from our friends on the Street,” Rizzo admitted. “And I heard we’re going to get some more donations closer to Thanksgiving.”
“That’s terrific!” Kermit said, nodding. “And the haunted house was pretty cool, too.”
“Yeah,” said Gonzo, joining them. “I heard you scream like a girl.”
“Only in the Creature Shop,” Kermit muttered, but did not elaborate.

Piggy was on the verge of leaving the crypt area when she heard a series of high-pitched screams nearby that seemed to fade into nothingness. She jumped, bit back an unladylike comment, and edged over to the doorway out of the crypt. Unlike the other doorways, light spilled from this entrance into the dim room and Piggy marched over to the door and peered inside.
She found herself in some weirdo’s nightmare version of Muppet Labs. She was not impressed by the obviously fake body parts hanging from the ceiling, although some of them looked disturbingly…oozie. Piggy looked around the room for a few minutes, wondering who had been screaming, then noticed a large column on the far end of the room. There appeared to be some sort of wrapping around it that seemed to tremble with movement, as though something were on the other side of it. She edged closer, wondering what she would see and was finally close enough to put one lace-adorned hand on the column….
Several things happened at once. She heard snatches of music from below, saw flashes of light and…lost her footing. The amazing new heels touched the edge of the slick plastic and—suddenly—Piggy was plunging down the twisty chute, screaming in terror.

“That little kid’s a terror,” Rizzo said, touching his whiskers gingerly. He pointed to a little boy dressed like a mouse. “He wanted to know how I got my whiskers to stay on, and he almost pulled a few of them off.”
“Tell me about it,” Gonzo said. He was holding his schnoz and making little honking noises. “He wanted to see if my nose was real.”
“He the one who grabbed the witch’s nose?” Clifford asked. “I heard we had a putty casualty.”
“Sortof,” Rowlf said. “I think she gave up on it after the last group came through.”
“Monster Mash” segued into “One-Eyed, One-Horned Flying Purple People Eater” and the kids—frogs, humans, critters or whatever—clapped and hooted their approval. The party was shaping up nicely.

A pair of shapely legs emerged out of the twisted slide, followed by a rather disconcerted Piggy, who lay back on the slide and tried to catch her breath. Kermit would have known those legs anywhere, and his face lit up with pleasure and surprise. He hastened over and looked down.
“Wow, Piggy,” said Kermit. “Great shoes.” He helped her to her feet, admiring the generous length of her legs afforded by her slide into the room.
“Great entrance,” said Rizzo, giving her a thumb's up.
“Oh,” Piggy said, sweeping her hair back from her face. Her up-do was now standing up because of static from the plastic slide. “I…Moi meant to do that, of course.”
“Of course,” Kermit murmured, keeping his face carefully neutral. He wanted a kiss and did not think he would get one if he chortled at her less-than-graceful, but nevertheless spectacular entrance. Piggy could take a pratfall with the best of them, so she was not really hurt, but he did not want to damage her pride. He leaned in and was allowed to brush her pink cheek with his froggy lips. Oh well. She must have seen him smiling. Still, the night was young and he had all evening to work himself back into her good graces. He tucked her lace-covered hand under his elbow, wondering about the stickiness of her palm.
“You’re back!” Kermit said. He gained a lot of points because his amazement and delight were so evident.
“I---Moi was tired of looking for the perfect shoes.” There was a world of meaning encompassed in that thought.
“Well, it looks like you found them,” Kermit said, and Piggy fought the urge to melt. Sometimes Kermit could be a real pain, but other times…he knew just the right thing to say. “C’mon—I’ll show you around.”
Piggy consented to be squired around the room, taking in everything from the decorations to the guests to the band. Nothing was more likely to entrance Piggy than a party, and this one—while definitely leaning more toward the younger set—obviously met her approval. She approved of the live music and the refreshments. Piggy even gave her blessing to the crepe paper decorations and the carved pumpkins.
“This one is very nice,” she said. Someone had painstakingly carved a likeness of Count Von Count into the flesh of the pumpkin. Kermit led her to the actual Count, whose low bow over her fingers was sure to charm.
“That’s two—two stylish shoes,” said The Count admiringly, “and two—two beguiling ankles.” Piggy preened a little. Her good mood was slightly undone by one of the neighborhood children, who almost ran into Piggy’s dimpled knees. The little boy, who was dressed like a fireman, skidded to a stop, wind-milling his arms. He stared up at Piggy’s little black dress and static-tousled hair, complete with fake spider webs tangled within. “Wow!” he exclaimed. “Are you the Bride of Frankenstein?”
Piggy felt like swatting him, but she refrained. He was, after all, a child in a cheap, ill-fitting costume and deserved her pity more than her scorn. She pulled herself up to her full height with dignity.
“Moi is not the bride of anyone,” she growled. She brushed her hair back from her face with her black lace gloves. “Moi is currently free of entanglements.”
“Except spider webs,” Kermit teased, retrieving a strand of fake spider web from Piggy’s golden curls.

“Beauregard! How did you get tangled up in the Halloween lights—again?” Telly ran over and fussed over the bound janitor, making things mostly worse. Herry and Cookie Monster ran over to help, which was the only reason there were Halloween cupcakes still there when Piggy came up to the buffet table.
Piggy had been largely restored to her party mood with hot cocoa. There were even little pumpkin-shaped marshmallows to go on top, and Piggy sipped the foamy top of her drink gratefully. She had had a spider cupcake with licorice whip legs and red hots for eyes, a funnel cake with powdered sugar and nutmeg and…something else, and a plate full of fresh vegetables with something cheesy-spicy to dip them in. The dip was served in little cauldron-shaped containers. She and Camilla had been discussing whose costume was stylish and whose was outré and who should or should not wear spandex, but in a friendly sort of way. Kermit had promised to procure a piece of the mummy strudel for her, but she was not in a hurry. The music was loud, and the conversation droned around her. Piggy thrived on this kind of chaos and she realized that she was very, very glad to be home. She took a sip of her cocoa and suspected that she had acquired a mustache.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned to find herself mustache to mustache with Charlie Chaplin smiling at her and extending a hand. Johnny Fiama had stepped up to the microphone and the first strains of “It’s Witchcraft” were playing.
“Are you free for this dance?” Kermit asked. Piggy hastily wiped the marshmallow foam off her lips and looked around, suspecting she was being teased. There was no one else dancing.
“I don’t think—“
“Good—don’t think. Come dance with me.” Effortlessly, he pulled her into his arms. In the spanking new heels, she was taller than usual, and it made dancing with Kermit a somewhat new experience as he steered her expertly around the floor.
“Kermit,” Piggy said, aware of many eyes on them—many, many eyes, including the fake ones that Shelly the Penguin had stuck all over her torso. “I—No one else is dancing.”
“No one else has you for a partner, tonight,” Kermit returned smoothly. “No one else has as good an excuse to ask you to dance just so I can put my arms around you.”
Now Piggy was very flustered, her cheeks flushing prettily. She looked at him carefully, squinting at the bulbous eyes beneath the brim of the hat. “Are you sure you’re really Kermit?” she asked dryly. “You’re not some other romantic frog masquerading as Kermit?”
At that, Kermit made a scrunchy face that was so familiar to and beloved by Piggy that she knew it was him.
“It is you,” she said, and let him hold her closer.
Finally, two penguins joined them on the dance floor, whirling and bobbing with ease, and after them, Rowlf took the floor with their laughing haunted house organizer, who was still clutching her clipboard. She finally managed to hand it off to Herry monster so she could dance unencumbered.
“Better now?” Kermit asked.
“I feel conspicuous,” Piggy said, but there was no accusation in it.
“Yeah? Well, you’re a stand-out in those shoes,” Kermit said. He smiled at her and tried wiggling his mustache. The result was so comical that Piggy couldn’t help but giggle.
“Look, Rosenthal,” she teased. “I like my frogs just fine without facial hair.”
Again, Kermit made a rueful scrunchy face. “What other frogs do you like?” he demanded. He was obviously still smarting from her “free of entanglements” comment.
But Piggy was gentle with his feelings like he had been gentle with hers. “I like Robin,” she said thoughtfully. “And Scoutmaster Rana, and…who is that guys that runs the theater in town?” Her blue eyes were innocently wide.
“The good-looking guy with the mad banjo skills?” Kermit smirked.
“Nooo,” said Piggy lightly. She put her hand on the back of his neck in a gentle caress. “The geeky guy with delusions of directorship.”
“Ouch,” said Kermit, wincing.
“Still smarting over that Bride of Frankenstein comment,” she muttered. Admitting it made it more funny than embarrassing, and they both laughed.
“Well if Frankenstein want’s you, he’s going to have to take it up with me,” Kermit said with a charming mixture of daring and nervousness.
“I’ll keep that in mind if he asks me out Friday,” Piggy said dryly.
Kermit cleared his throat. “Glad you, um, had a good shopping trip,” Kermit said. “But I’m glad you got back in time for the party.”
“Moi, too. The perfect pair of shoes isn’t any good if you don’t have any place to wear them.” Johnny was winding down, singing about falling under a spell…
“Well, um, maybe you could wear them out with me this Friday after the show,” Kermit began, but the music ended and he trailed off uncertainly. He might have said more—probably would have said more, but Robin arrived, tugging on Piggy’s hand.
“C’mon, Miss Piggy,” Robin begged. “Dance the Hokey-Pokey with me!”
Piggy looked at Kermit, who opened his mouth, then finally shook his head. She smiled at him and shrugged microscopically.
“Moi would love to dance the Hokey-Pokey with you!” she said, and followed Robin out onto the floor.
Kermit watched them for a moment, hesitant, then felt someone's eyes on him and looked up to see Scoutmaster Rana looking at him with very Yoda-like discernment. Slowly, sagely, the older frog nodded. Kermit grinned at him and went to join his nephew and his girl on the dance floor.
"That's the spirit," Scoutmaster Rana said, and smiled.

Ah... Thank you Lady Ru for leaving this treat for us to find, especially helpful to wash away the trick played on us throughout that two-hour debacle on USA Network.
Didn't see any ending disclaimor, so I have to ask... Is there more?

Things I noticed.
You get points for having Camilla as a vampire chicken, mainly because there was a famous vampiress by that name.
But you get those points taken away for presenting characters dancing the HP dance at the end, a more terrifying thing has never been known to man. That, and the group singing of Cumbaya. *Shudders.
But you get points back for this entire story as I've enjoyed all the subtle references and how it's progressed so far.

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Ed...wasn't that CARmilla? But I agree! Major orange-frosted-with-Halloween-sprinkles-brownie points! But I would argue that the Chicken Dance is FAR more terrifying than the Hokey Pokey, any party of the week.

The flirting between Piggy and Kermit is wonderful. Verbal sparring on a par with Beatrice and Benedict, Maddy and David, Catherine Tate and David Tennant...superb! Your one-line reference to Kermit in a bowler hat, before I recalled you had him dressed as Chaplin, gave me an instant mental image of the frog as Alex from "Clockwork Orange" -- WOW, now that would've been seriously creepy...

The Frog Scouts' reactions to the haunted house were charming. Love the idea of some of the crew switching objects around behind their backs -- hey! Never say "piece of cake" in the Labyrinth! And Camilla and Johnny trying to be vamps...er, vampires, I mean ...hilarious. Loved the mutant penguins, but were their spare body parts flesh-colored, felted, or black and white? (A combination of all three?)

Much fun! Thank you VERY much...and yes. You win the bet. *sigh* I'll mail you a Coke.
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I find it hilarious that even though they're married, Piggy didn't believe Kermit was real. That's just funny!

Click to expand...

Oh--thank you for all the nice comments, Miss Kermie! (Love your screen name!) I'm afraid I've been unaccountably confusing if you are new to reading my stories. While I usually write Kermit and Piggy as married (because they got married), I sometimes write stories in which they are not--such as The Wearing of the Green and this one and some other short stories. Every writer usually decides for themselves what their own personal canon is (or, in fan fiction writing, it's called fanon) and stays true to that for most of their fan writing in a particular genre. We all have our own fanon and no one is obligated to agree with someone else's ideas about the characters. (Although sometimes we playfully borrow characters or make references to other writer's characters, plot and stories.)

If you like to see Kermit and Piggy married--and happily so--the story that sortof grounds all of my other stories is Kermie's Girl. That story is true is every way to my personal fanon (although no one is obligated to agree with it! LOL!) It's not the first story chronologically, but it's the, er, most all-encompassing of my stories. Sortof like a literary black-hole....

If you like to write stories--put your own in here. If you need help knowing how, ask one of us. And The Count is always suberb at helping new folks, especially here in our Fan Fiction and Fan Art Board.

Welcome! MC is just full of muppety goodness and we're always looking for more!